


Learning Music by Reading

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [4]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel AU fusion, and continuation of The First Thirty Minutes, Hourglass Time and the improbably named X Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Music by Reading

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Slash; PG; h/c  
> Warning: none  
> Advisory: potty mouth; WIP of sorts  
> Comments:   
> 1) British English spelling  
> 2) Sentinel AU fusion, and continuation of The First Thirty Minutes, Hourglass Time and the improbably named X Time.  
> Spoilers: none  
> Beta: Springwoof -- thank you, babe

“Breath? Breath? Shared breath? What do you mean?” Danny asked. He didn’t even like the sound of that. 

“It’s a traditional greeting, Danno. You kind of gently rest your forehead against the kahuna’s and take a breath -- share it.”

“Ew.” Danny stepped back. 

“It’s traditional, Danny. You kiss me, it’s no different.” 

“It’s very different. You--” Danny kind of spread his fingers and twitched, failed to encapsulate whatever he was trying to convey, and drew a heart in mid-air, “--you know.”

“Hmmm?” Steve raised a mocking eyebrow, daring him to say it in the middle of the street, outside a stranger’s house. 

“It doesn’t sound very hygienic,” Danny grumbled. 

Steve stared down his long nose. “I’ve seen the kitchen after you’ve had a week in the house alone when I’ve been on reserve drill. You and hygienic have a hot-cold relationship.”

“That’s messy,” Danny hissed the s’s, “cluttered. Very different to unhygienic.” 

“Don’t be such a haole -- literally.” Steve set a hand under Danny’s elbow, and directed him up the path to a neat little detached bungalow with a brick-red roof and pale beige walls. 

“What does that mean?”

“The first white men on the Islands refused to share breath. _Hāʻole_ means ‘no breath’. At least that’s one story.” 

“This is such a weird place to live.” Danny shook his head. 

“Different traditions,” Steve corrected. “Kahuna Kila is highly respected. It took Chin a lot of discreet wrangling to figure out that this was the man to see and arrange a meeting.”

“Why? You afraid that I’ll disrespect him and he’ll refuse to help?” 

“Honestly?” Steve stopped, clenched knuckles poised to tap on the red door. “I know that you’ll say something to offend him at some point, but I guess he’ll forgive ignorance as a Kahuna La'au Lapa'au.”

“Which is?” Danny set his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. 

“Healer. Look the breathing thing is important. It’s about respect. It’s about acknowledging we are here on the Islands and the traditions of the Islands are important. But it’s more than that -- it’s a deeply spiritual greeting.” Steve scowled. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Will you at least try? For me?”

Oh, Steve was playing the trump card.

“For you. But I’ll have you know, Steven, that as a sentinel, I’m taking this very personally.” 

Steve rapped twice on the door. “Hence the reason that it’s important.” 

            ~*~

Danny narrowed his eyes at the rotund old man as he settled on the middle cushion of a long sofa and regarded them through a veil of bushy eyebrows. The breath thing had seriously creeped Danny out. 

‘ _Danny_?’ Steve growled low enough that only a sentinel could hear. 

What? Danny thought loudly with a fillip of _what the fuck_? Come on super SEAL! Use your amazing guide abilities. Do you really trust this guy? He smells of rough tobacco and unwashed skin. A healer, Danny thought, my ass -- I wouldn’t let him touch my pinkie finger. 

Danny looked at the cushion on the floor that he had been directed to sit on, and bristled.

“So when does Kahuna Kiki get here?” Danny asked, chin high. 

“What?” Steve turned on him. 

“This isn’t him.” Danny dismissed the unwashed interloper with a huff. 

Steve was doing an impression of a spectator at one of Grace’s tennis matches. 

“For real.” Steve canted his head to the side, intently focussed. He abruptly jerked back an inch, twitching. “Oh.”

Danny kind of guessed that this was some kind of test -- he didn’t like tests. He pulled out his gun, and aimed it two-handed at the man. “What have you done with Kahuna Kiki?”

“He means Kila, by the way,” Steve said, not batting an eyelid. 

The trickster laughed. “What gave it a way, sentinel?” 

“You’re a creepy old fucker with spindly legs, and I think you need to see a doctor.” Seeing nothing but humour in the man’s eyes, Danny holstered his weapon. “Your heart’s doing a weird tik-tik thing. You should get that looked at by Kila -- the real one, assuming that he actually does medicine and not just airy-fairy stuff.”

Steve plastered his hand over his face. 

The imposter laughed out loud. “I’m Ford.”

Danny batted Steve’s shoulder on principle. _You call yourself an empathic guide_ , he thought loudly. 

“Pleased to meet you, Ford,” Danny said. 

Steve crossed his arms. “Where’s Kahuna Kila?”

“My nephew is running late. He had to pick up his son from pre-school. He sent me ahead to apologise.” 

“And you decided to?” Danny rotated his finger in a circle by his temple. 

“Fuck with you? Kinda, yeah.” He smiled with all of his peg-like teeth. 

“Uncle Ford! Uncle Ford!” A red headed toddler ran into the living room and launched himself fearlessly onto his Uncle. “There was tractors! Big tractors. They’d dug a hole in the road and the water went _whoosh_ inna sky. It was awesome.” 

“Hence the reason we were late,” Kahuna Kila apologised. He and his son shared burnished red corkscrews curls and warm light brown skin. “I apologise.” 

“No apologies necessary,” Steve said smoothly, striding over on long legs to shake the man’s hand. “We were getting acquainted with your uncle.” 

“Really?” Narrowed-eyed, Kila regarded his uncle. 

“Yeah, he’s a peach,” Danny volunteered from his corner of the room. 

“Uncle?” Kila probed. 

“Well, that’s our invitation to leave, pipsqueak.” Ford stood up, tucking his nephew under his arm like a football. 

“Bye bye,” Danny said. “Don’t forget to mention to your nephew about the heart thing. Smoking is not good for you either.” 

“Uncle,” Kila chastised as Ford made his escape. Kila looked to Danny and to the space where his uncle had been occupying. “He knows that he shouldn’t smoke! Heart?” 

“Leaky valve maybe?” Danny hazarded holding his fingertips together. “Not so much as leaky as minisculy drippy. I’d get him checked out: chest x-ray; heart scan; blood pressure… brain test.”

Kila inclined his head. “Thank you, sentinel.”

Danny shrugged. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s everything,” Kila demurred. “He’s family, as aggravating as he can be.” 

“Comes by it naturally then?” Danny mused. 

“Ah,” Kila said. “He does. I can only apologise.” 

“It’s not necessary.” Steve suddenly straightened, leonine, gathering their gazes. “He was testing us, protecting you. He wanted to be sure we are who we are.” 

“And what are you?” Kila asked. 

“Trustworthy,” Steve answered. 

            ~*~

Kila moved them out to his lanai overlooking the damnable ocean. 

He sat on a wicker sofa set kitty-corner to a softer fabric-covered sofa under the protection of an overgrown trellis dotted with flowering white moonflowers. Danny plonked down on the comfy cushions and glared at Steve until he sat right up beside him, thighs touching. 

“So.” Kila tapped his finger on his knee. “How can I help you?” 

Danny thought that he was a little young to be any help. He had been expecting a venerable old master with a long white beard, not a kid probably in his mid-twenties. 

“I’m thirty two,” Kila said. 

Huh.

Kila shrugged. “Some folks want Mr. Miyagi but you would have to come back in forty years. I’ve been training since I was seven. I have undertaken accredited training in western medicine – I have my D.O., but I’ve also studied with my grandmother my entire life, a renowned herbalist on the island.” 

“The Kalakaua Clan vouched for you,” Steve said. 

“They are a good family,” Kila said. “An old family.” 

Steve dove straight in. “Danny’s a sentinel and I’m his guide. I need training because I don’t want to go to ‘Aina.” 

“Why don’t you want to go to the Island of the Guides?” Kila asked directly. 

“I have an offensive form of empathy.”

Danny kind of thought that Steve liked saying ‘offensive form of empathy’ in that firm tone; it was actually pretty defensive if you thought about it. Steve only used it in response to a threat -- real or perceived. 

“I don’t have any control. It’s a reflex action. And I mind-whammied--” Steve winced at the wording (Danny’s wording actually), “--an entire suburb.” 

Kila absorbed that open mouthed. “That’s unprecedented. I mean, I’ve be studying the histories and the few written local texts about sentinels and guides…”

“Text? Actual writings? That I can read?” Steve, incredibly, sat up even straighter. 

“You have to remember our practices have been suppressed by various governments since the 1800s,” Kila said soberly. “There have been times that kahuna practices of many types have been outlawed. Some traditions went underground, but we lost knowledge, often because adherents couldn’t freely teach.”

“Fucking Hell,” Danny swore. “What is it with ‘events’ destroying knowledge? WWII effectively eradicated Western Europe and US oral history and gives us Sentinel Central. And this in Hawaii?” 

“You’re talking about the1880s suppression and The Legislature repeal in 1972,” Steve pointed out, clearly more knowledgeable about Hawaiian history than Danny. “But there were sentinels and guides during this period. What about Kai? Who was his guide? I don’t think anyone has mentioned Kai’s guide.” 

“Kai’s guide was Sian Fitzwilliam. She was from Scotland, came over in the 1950s to teach English.” 

“Is she still alive?” Danny asked, doubting that it was so -- though he didn’t actually know how Kai had died, when, or even if, to be honest. 

“No, she had a stroke a week after Kai passed.” 

“What about kids?” Steve asked eyeing Kila’s copper-red hair. Danny, however, had been to Scotland and knew that all Scots weren’t all red heads nor all red heads Scots. 

Kila read his body language. “No relation, ‘uhane. This fiery hair is all of the Islands. Kai and Sian didn’t have children.”

“So do you have any insight?” Steve asked. And added, uncharacteristically snippy, “Or is this going to be another round of more meditation and passive shit?”

Kila settled back into his sofa, crossing his legs, expression contemplative. He didn’t immediately respond to Steve’s attack-question. 

Danny couldn’t stand silence -- but he honestly didn’t have a clue how to proceed. 

Steve was perched on the edge of the sofa, staring intently at Kila. Danny was kind of surprised the man hadn’t withered into a little cone of ash. 

Abruptly, it became a competition of who was going to talk first. Steve, Danny knew, possessed both an infernally short fuse when motivated and an abyssal well of patience when necessary. But they had come to Kila for help. 

“Okay,” Kila spoke (and Danny mentally counted that as a win). “As trite as it sounds, I need you to start from the very beginning.” 

            ~*~

Steve covered everything with the meticulousness of an officer of Naval Intelligence. Steve insisted that Kila did not take any written notes, which he noted ruefully was more grist for the mill of not being able to help future generations. 

“I’m going to get us coffee.” Kila stood in the natural break as Steve finished his detailed account. “Or if you’d prefer something else? Stronger?”

“Black coffee would be fine,” Danny said. 

“Water or juice if you have it -- not orange or mango,” Steve requested.

“Apple?” Kila offered Steve. 

“Fine. Thanks,” 

Introspective face firmly fixed, Kila wandered into the house. 

“What do you think?” Danny asked quietly. 

“I think he’s intelligent. He asked logical questions. He assessed the low risk of a Sentinel Central sentinel representative coming to the Islands, and adequately identified that it’s less easy to predict the mundane representatives coming out to ‘check on us’.” 

“What about the …” Danny tapped his fingernail against his temple. 

“I dunno. Perhaps we need another type of Kahuna….” 

“Like what?”

“Sorcerer.”

“Magic?” Danny asked, aghast. 

Steve shrugged. “Ears up. Listen to Kila. See what he’s up to.” 

“Hear what he’s up to,” Danny grumbled, but obeyed, head canting to the left as he listened to Kila. 

Steve could only imagine what and how Danny focussed on Kila. He stamped ruthlessly on that fillip of _I wish that I could do that_ that raised its ancient head. All he was picking up was intense curiosity, cool vibrant silver, and a fragment of concern, burnt amber. 

“He’s coming back.” Danny sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, chin pillowed on his hands. 

Kila held a tray with coffee and juices. He set it on the wicker coffee table and dropped on his couch with a thump. Picking up a glass of apple juice he held it close without sipping. 

“I will help you,” Kila said. “There are three things that you and I need to do.”

“What?” Danny asked tightly, because Steve knew that Danny would always pounce on an opening when offered one. 

“Research. There are people that I trust that I would like your permission to approach. I won’t identify you, without your express permission. And there’s research that you can do -- your father, Sentinel Williams.” 

“Danny,” he corrected, eyes narrowing at the mention of his dad. 

“Danny,” Kila acknowledged. “Your father has insight. I would like to talk to him.” 

Steve let Danny address that one, knowing that overprotective and his dad went hand in glove or perhaps, foot in mouth. 

“I think that dad would want to talk to you,” Danny said with an edge of threat colouring his words. 

“And number three?” Steve asked. 

“I’d like to observe you both at work and home,” Kila let the words roll over them. 

“Why?” Danny asked. 

“Because I’m guessing a lot of your use of your gifts is unconscious, and I can gain insight into giving you help.” His avoidance was the word ‘guide’ was obvious. 

“I don’t know how we’re going to justify a ride-along,” Danny mused. 

“Don’t have to justify anything,” Steve observed pithily, jabbing his thumb against his sternum. “The boss says: ride along approved. You can start on Monday, Kila.” 

“And at home?” Kila asked, softly. 

Steve glanced at Danny. 

“You want to meet my dad? They’re heading home on Tuesday. You can come tonight for dinner.” 

“That’s very kind of you,” Kila said. “Would tomorrow be okay? It’s too short notice to organise a babysitter.” 

Oh, yes, the kid, Steve remembered. He supposed that he wouldn’t want to leave any impressionable offspring with Uncle Ford for too long. 

“You can bring him if you like,” Danny said. “My parents have my kids, George and Grace, for the day. They’ll be at the house. What are we having, Steve?” 

“Something with pasta,” Steve said glumly, thinking of the carbs that would need to be worked off in the immediate future. Mr. Williams, Benedict, loved to cook, but low fat wasn’t in his repertoire. 

“What is it that your dad does?” Kila asked. 

Danny shrugged, confused. “He’s a guide,” he said slowly. “He looks after mom and the family.” 

“Full time guide?”

“Yeah, they’re partners.” Danny backed it up with a firm nod. 

“And do you know if I can ask your dad about the training that he had a guide?” Kila turned his inscrutable gaze on Steve rather than Danny. 

Steve decided that he liked Kila. He had a way of sliding though several conversations and points once. It was going to drive Danny up the proverbial wall. 

“We’ll have to talk to dad, first.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that he’s sworn an oath of secrecy. It mainly seems to be about meditating a lot.” 

Hilarious, Steve thought bleakly. In his own way, Danny was a traditionalist. Steve decided to ask Benedict what he had planned to with his life if he hadn’t been identified as a guide, and make sure that he asked the question in Danny’s hearing. It certainly put Danny’s oft-times parental smothering in perspective. He wondered if Sentinel Central had identified the genes of guides would Grace have them? Perhaps she simply hadn’t encountered the environmental trigger to initiate development of any abilities. Or was Danny simply overprotective to his very core of those that he considered family or vulnerable? Steve glanced sideways at Danny, because he -- Steve J. McGarrett -- was not in any way vulnerable. 

Danny felt his gaze. “You all right, Babe?” 

            ~*~

The trick, Steve decided as he watched the impromptu party on his lanai unfurl around him, was to figure out before and after. Since coming back from Kila’s house, he had been thinking. Guides were empathic, guides were sensitive -- went the mantra. To exactly, Steve wondered, what? Since everyone was empathic to some degree unless they were sociopaths. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the veranda balustrade, letting the merriment wash over him. Kila’s little boy and Grace were running wildly into the lapping waves on the shore and out again. Their giggles coloured the air around them brightly. Vel tagged at their heels, reluctant to get her paws wet. 

He had largely been able to become a SEAL by drawing back from that part of his innate self that he had called guide abilities. But to become a navy officer he had not become a sociopath or even a psychopath by switching off or not caring about emotions. He felt emotions. He was an emotional being -- despite Danny’s cracks about his lack of mammal-to-mammal skills and not being held as a baby. He had superb control of his emotions and that had allowed him to be a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy and an operative in Naval Intelligence. He hadn’t denied his empathic skills, he had used them. 

Yes, it was now more overt. But that was because of Danny. Steve’s environment had changed beyond all previous recognition and he had responded by developing further as a guide. 

Fact -- no one appeared to know anything. The so-called experts were citing calmness through meditation as a factor in control. But control of what? A few of the more esoteric texts that he had read had spoken of shields. Imagining a defensive perimeter? Steve really had no problem with that, but what was he defending against? Or should he be concentrating on creating a bulwark? 

Focus, Steve decided, had to be the best way to approach the problem. If you wanted to write an essay on lipid biochemistry of cell membranes, you did not approach that by picking up a couple of books, maybe remembering a notebook, having a few beers, and doing an overnighter -- if you wanted to succeed. 

“Benedict?” Steve said quietly. Danny’s dad, he could tell, was waiting for him to speak. He was sitting patiently on the ramp leading down to the grassy spread before the beach. 

“Yes, son?” Benedict craned his head. 

Steve moved along the deck of the veranda, until he stood over the older guide. “When you first saw me, did you know that I was a guide?” 

“Not immediately. When you relaxed, yes. I suspected you were when I figured out that you and Danny were in a relationship.” 

“What did you sense?” Steve asked, and then clarified. “What made you identify: guide?” 

Benedict’s gaze turned inwards, as he evidently thought hard. “What did you sense when you saw me?”

Steve settled his shoulder against the veranda post, tugging at this bottom lip as he thought. 

“Love,” Steve summarised. “That was Danny, though. Bright and intense.” 

“And did you know I was a guide?”

Steve huffed, frustrated, and crossed his arms. “I already knew that you were a guide. Danny said. I didn’t sense anything. But I wasn’t looking. You told me later that any guide seeing me would go ‘Oh my god!’ and point at me. To what were you referring?” 

“Feelers.” 

“Feelers?” Steve echoed. 

Benedict dabbled his fingertips together, remarkably well-maintained nails clicking. “I could feel you checking on us. Pinging. How’s Danny doing? Check. How’s George doing? Hungry. Grace? Still a little annoyed that her baby brother is a sentinel. Mr. Williams, Danny’s dad, does he accept us? Check? Mrs. Williams, not going there, she’s a sentinel, Danny’s dad’s sentinel. Sentinel. Sentinel. Sentinel. Ping. Ping. Ping. You’re like a submarine, deep and thoughtful, constantly assessing your Ohana.” 

“Surely, everyone does that? Danny does that. He’s always checking on Grace and us,” Steve mused, even as he considered the words. 

“Yeah, but Daniel does it as a mundane. He looks and sees if you’re frowning. He sees the expression of emotion. As a sentinel he picks up the rapidly beating heartbeat of a liar, or the flush of blood under the skin. Being around you is like being… rocked by a sonic blast when you turn on your attention.” 

“Okay.” This was interesting. Steve pointed at his chest. “Set your feelers on me, Mr. Williams, Benedict.” 

Benedict stood up, bottom lip twisted. “It’s not conscious. I don’t control it. It just is.” He paused, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Steve uncrossed his arms, letting them fall by his sides, palms inwards towards his thighs. He grounded his feet against the warm wood, spreading his bare toes. Lifting his chin slightly, he matched the movement by rolling his shoulder blades down his back. He breathed evenly as he settled into the tadasana yoga pose -- standing like a mountain. 

There. He could see faint lines attaching Benedict to his family. The analogy was perhaps not the most fetching, but Benedict was a spider in a web. The thickest and shortest thread led to Mrs. Williams. Bizarrely, Steve got the impression that even if Mrs. Williams was on the other side of the planet, it would still be the thickest and shortest thread. 

Danny, hovering by Grace and Little Ford, shifted so he was watching both Steve and his dad. The thread singing towards Danny from his dad vibrated with love. The one to George, napping in his capsule, maintained a watching brief. Steve wondered what would happen if he plucked one? The newest thread, shiny with freshness, speared Steve in his lower abdomen just under his belly button. 

It felt very vulnerable to be attached to people in this delicate weave. He couldn’t see an overlaying web of his own empathic assessment. But Benedict said that he pinged, like radar. 

Sonic blast, eh? Still maintaining the pose, Steve turned his attention on Danny. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Presumably he did this all the time but unconsciously. The trick now was to up the ante and make it conscious. 

What are you feeling, Danno?

There _bang_ was data: curiosity -- what the Hell were Steve and dad doing; low grade fear -- water, sharks, jellyfish, drowning; deep abiding uncomplicated love -- Grace. Splash?

Danny was flat on his back, in the water, flailing. 

“Danny!” Steve launched himself over the veranda railing and loped across the grass. Danny was down; he had made him collapse. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mrs. Williams moving rapidly across the beach. Steve skidded through the sand and into the surf. He churned through the water to Danny’s side. “Danny!”

Spitting, Danny sat up. “What the flying fuck was that, Steve?” he demanded splashing Steve full in the face with an armful of water. “Dick!” 

“Language!” Mrs. Williams chided loudly from the water’s edge. 

“You haven’t just been,” Danny growled, frustrated, “blasted in the face with a -- _I dunno_ \-- hosepipe of non-wet water.”

“Huh?” Steve brushed actual seawater off his face, and offered his hand to his disgruntled sentinel. “Did I knock you over or surprise you so you fell over?” 

“I’m not surprised; I’m violated,” Danny yelled, smacking Steve’s hand away. 

“Daniel!” 

“Sorry, Mom.” 

“Surprised then,” Steve judged, straightening and letting Danny sit in the water. “It wasn’t tangible?” 

Danny stood up and shook himself like a wet dog. “What were you doing?” 

“Trying to consciously use my empathic abilities,” Steve said, aware that Grace and Little Ford were standing looking up at them open mouthed as the surf washed around their ankles.

“Well, tone it down then!” Danny huffed, pushing wet hair off his forehead. He stomped out of the water. “I’m going to dry off.” 

“Can you--” Kila moved forward from the array of family arranged around Steve and held his arms away from his sides, “--try that on me?” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“You do it all the time. You would have done it when you first met me. Do it now, Commander.” 

Seawater still swishing around his ankles, Steve pinged him. 

Anticipation and colourful, silvery, intrigued curiosity -- the kahuna was enjoying this new mystery so very, very much. 

“Did you feel anything?” Steve asked, interested in the response. 

Kila shook his head, and Steve could see and feel that that evoked sadness. 

“Mr. Williams?” Kila turned to the guide. 

“No.” Mrs. Williams slid between Steve and Benedict. She bristled, bracing herself, hunching down in much the same way as Danny did when faced with a threat. Abruptly, Steve was aware, that despite sharing his home for the last few days, he and Mrs. Williams had not spoken in any other manner than briefly and circumspectly. 

“I won’t, Mrs. Williams.” Steve held his hands up, hostage to her fear. 

“Nah, nah, nah.” Benedict eeled around his wife. “This could be interesting.” 

“You will not!” Mrs. Williams snapped. 

“Hey. Hey. Hey!” Danny came jogging back over the sand. “What the Hell set this off. Steve?”

“We were discussing pinging your dad.” 

“Pinging? What the fuck is pinging?” Danny slipped into the middle of the crowd of friends and family. “Pinging? I thought that we’d agreed no human testing. Where’s Vel?”

The puppy paced back and forth on the sand around them, high strung and nervy. 

“What?” Grace made her own slipping slide around a sentinel and ended up standing between her dad and Steve. “You can’t _experiment_ on Velvet. That’s animal testing. It’s cruel.” 

“Out of the mouth of babes, Babe.” Danny glanced up at the sky, rolling his eyes. 

_How the hell am I supposed to learn control of these abilities in a vacuum?_

“I am not going to hurt Vel,” Steve said.

“You made dad fall over!” Grace shrieked. 

She was painful to talk to, all spiky fear and indignation. 

“Grace,” Steve said calmly. “I’m not going to hurt Vel. I’m not going to ping your grandfather.” He added the word _consciously_ to the sentence in his own mind. “Everything is fine. It was just an impulse.” 

_Perhaps everyone should calm down_. As soon as Steve thought the words, he winced. Everyone relaxed and nodded, the cadence of fear abruptly fading. 

Benedict met his gaze neutrally, and nodded once sharply. 

“Son.” Benedict came forwards, and his wife let him. “Perhaps you should go for a run?”

“That’s a good idea. Run off some of that spaghetti carbonara. Thanks,” he said, words staccato. 

Danny let him go, but he could feel the weight of Danny’s senses tracking him. 

Standing in the garage, Steve swapped his polo shirt and cargoes, for a pre-worn tank top and shorts straight from the washing machine. They were just going to get very sweaty again; it was pointless getting a fresh pair. Slipping out through the garage, he skirted around the front of the house. His running shoes were on the deck by the front door (Danny said that they smelled). 

He brushed the damp sand off his feet and ran his fingers in between his toes before pushing his feet into his well-broken in runners. Stretching his legs, warming up the hamstrings, he then used the wall of his house to push against to work on his calves, hips and lower back. It was routine and was deliciously mindless. 

The crux of the situation was, back on the lanai, that he had consciously used his abilities, and recognised that he had unconsciously, once again, tweaked people to his will. It was a reasonable start. He just had to figure it all out in a controlled environment where no one was hurt. 

He grabbed his elbow with his left hand and rotated at the waist, stretching triceps and shoulders, extending his back. Swapping over he warmed up his left side. 

Time to run -- because Danny was now thinking that perhaps Steve running off was not a good idea. He was moving determinedly through the house. 

Moving into a slow jog, Steve set off down the drive. 

            ~*~

Happily tired, sweaty, and rung out, Steve returned home as dusk was darkening into true night. The lights were on in the house, making it a bastion of warmth and welcome. He set his palm on the hood of Danny’s car. It was warm; he must have taken the kids back to Rachel and Stan’s place. Kila’s old rusty pink minivan was nowhere to be seen. 

Just the gauntlet of Williams to face, Steve thought, piece of cake. 

He was tempted to head out on another run. 

But Danny yanked open the front door. 

“Nice run?” Danny asked, and somehow Steve heard ‘dear’ with an appropriately pithy bite at the end of the question. 

“Yes. It was a good idea… that your dad had,” Steve tagged on spinelessly. 

Danny’s eyes narrowed. 

Steve debated mentioning that Danny was playing the role of badly done housewife to perfection, but decided that he liked his balls where they were and the sofa was a mite too short for him lie on all night. 

“So you did it again?” Danny said.

“Er, can I come in? To my own house?” He scanned the driveway. 

Danny stepped aside. “You did it again?” he asked. 

Steve nodded. “You dad thinks so.” 

“How tired are you?”

Steve stopped dead -- he hadn’t considered that. He simply felt the post exercise rush of stimulated-enervation seeping through his bones. 

“Perhaps,” Danny said in a pseudo-conversational manner, “you shouldn’t have gone running.” 

“It was your dad’s idea,” Steve reiterated. 

“You didn’t take your phone,” Danny snapped. 

“Oh. _Mea culpa_ ,” he admitted finally giving Danny what he wanted. “That was most definitely a mistake.” 

The touch paper had been ignited. 

“What would have happened if you had an incident? You haven’t been back to work since your little zombie episode!” 

The little steam train that was Danny’s enthusiastic temper was chugging up the mountain huffing and puffing -- Steve couldn’t but help smile.

“What! What! What is that face? I don’t even--” Danny squalled. 

“Danny?” Steve slid into his space, working his way through buffeting emotions. He didn’t touch. “It’s trial and error. There’s going to be mistakes.” 

“Mistake! Mistake?”

Perhaps, Steve thought a little drolly, this was why he had developed the projective side of the empathy equation. It was very tempting to switch this off. Tempting, but he wasn’t going there. Somehow the fact that he could made it easier to weather the storm. And knowing that a deep, wide, encompassing well of love was the source of all Danny’s fervent energy. 

“Danny? Danny?” He raised his voice to break through the yelling. “You’re going to give me a migraine.” 

Danny sagged miserably. 

“What?” Steve asked surprised, because that sad demeanour was unprecedented. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help you.” Danny glanced away. 

“Danny!” Steve stepped right in close, so that they both stood in the threshold of their home. “I don’t know how to guide you either. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Maybe we should go to Sentinel Central,” Danny said sounding defeated, sinking down a fraction. 

“What?” Yanking his hand back, Steve abruptly reversed the nascent comforting move. “You’ve got to be kidding!” 

“Listen. I’ve been thinking,” Danny said intensely, chin coming up. “We’re a sentinel and guide. Sentinel Central is made up of sentinels and guides. I know people who work for SC. I trained with them. Maybe it won’t be a mistake to talk to them?”

“What are you insane? Have you had a psychotic break?” Steve demanded. “It’s not the sentinel and guides I’m worried about. It’s the administration, the sycophants that follow the process. I am nobody’s property. I don’t need to be smothered in a protective blanket. How many sentinel and guides actually have senior level positions at Sentinel Central? Two? Three? Nominally, it is because there are so few sentinels that using them in administration is a waste of their talents. Reality, it’s about controlling a gifted population that scares the mundanes. That’s why Sentinel Central exists. The fact that I can do this.” Steve tapped his temple. “Will scare the shit out of them.” 

Steve was furious that Danny had even considered contacting Sentinel Central. A righteous cold anger chilled him to the bone. It was okay -- marginally -- for the sentinels since they had a modicum of cachet as protectors, warriors, and thus the public’s appreciation…. 

“Screw you!” Danny hollered, face as red as the aura veiling over his form from head to toe. “I’m thinking through our options.”

“Options? Option? An option for you.” Steve grabbed a handful of the red mist a foot above Danny’s shoulder and squeezed it tight until it bled through his fingers. “You’re so angry and scared that you can barely think straight.” 

The red mist around Danny dissipated like reverse filmography. 

“What the Hell did you just do?” Danny asked looking at Steve’s clenched hand. “Did you just ping me?” 

“Do you two idiots want to bring this inside?” Mrs. Williams interrupted from the living room. “Share your laundry with the whole world, why don’t you.” 

“Yeah, Danny, why don’t you let me in my home?” Steve said mockingly. 

“Don’t you start on me, Steven J. McGarrett.”

Steve stepped past Danny. There was room enough that Danny didn’t have to move aside, so neither gave way. 

“I swear to god, I will beat you both bloody. Your father -- who I left sleeping, you better have not disturbed him -- says that sentinels have a heightened fear response, which makes them act irrationally. Rein it in, Daniel. And guides are trouble magnets who don’t think things through and run head first into danger.” 

“Oh. Yes, indeed.” Danny bounced forwards, pushing his chest out. “I remember that from Guiding 101 at school. Trouble magnets.” he said sing song. 

“Yeah, Mr. Fear Response,” Steve retorted. 

“You’re adults, not children. Grow up,” Mrs. Williams snapped. “Apologise to each other and grow the fuck up. Or you’re not going to survive this.”

Danny’s mom had a potty mouth. Who would have guessed from an outwardly petite, blonde haired, blue eyed angel? 

“Yes, Daniel, apologise.” Steve just couldn’t help himself sometimes. 

“Apologise? I’m not the one that ran off, because Mr. Lieutenant Commander Navy SEAL was scared…”

“I swear to god!” Mrs. Williams said. 

Thwap! And Steve’s ear rang. Taken aback, Steve stepped away from Mrs. Williams cupping his ear. Danny mirrored him exactly; hand protectively over his left ear. 

“Mom!” Danny howled. 

“Lanai now, the pair of you. Sit down on the couch, on the sand, find a damn blanket, sit in the water -- I don’t care. Yes, Steven, you shouldn’t have gone for a run. You, Daniel, shouldn’t have overreacted. There’s no reason why either of you should be fighting. Talk this through like the adults that you are. Like the _partners_ that you are. Now!” She pointed at the dining room doors to the dark outside. “I’m going back up to bed. I’m going to put my white noise generator on and ignore the pair of you. Kiss and make up.” She stomped off up the wooden staircase, pink bobble slippers somewhat incongruous. 

Steve watched her go -- missing his own mom so much he could taste bitter dregs in his mouth. He glanced sideways at Danny, who was a hairbreadth from stubbing his toe against the hardwood floor like a little kid. 

Steve raised his eyebrows at Danny, and nodded to the back of the house. Sighing as if it was a massive imposition, Danny turned on his heel. 

“Lock the front door, Steven,” he ordered 

As Steve locked up, it occurred to him that Mrs. Williams said that she was switching on her white noise generator, and the smooth swish and draw of the waves against the beach was a wall of natural white noise. It had been over a week since Mrs. Williams and Benedict had arrived, and she had told them to kiss and make up. Kicking off his runners, he darted across the sitting room in his bare feet.

Arms crossed over his chest, Danny stood tall on the lanai, a speculative gleam in his eye. 

            ~*~

“So do you think that we can do this?” Danny asked, as they lay on the blanket under the cover of stars, cooling down. 

“Sure, Danny, we’re not stupid. We’ve got skills. And we’ve got Chin and Kono. Max is probably researching every unpublished and published book and research paper ever written about sentinels and guides. And Kila -- I’ve got a good feeling about Kila.” Steve shifted infinitesimally closer to Danny, moving out of a wet patch. “Did you know that Kila means seal in Hawaiian?”

“Typical,” Danny said waspishly. “More seals.” 

“This isn’t like you, D. Insecure. When did you undergo a personality transplant?” Steve folded in from his lazy, post-coital loll on the blanket and wriggled his arm under Danny’s neck. That Danny let him pull him in close against his side spoke volumes. 

“I’m a nester. I like to nest. Being on a raft in a sea of uncertainty is making me nuts,” Danny grumbled. 

“Very eloquent.” Steve took in the stars overhead. “At least, you know -- to use your analogy -- we’re on a raft in this sea of yours. My mom used to listen to this guy -- he sang about love being a boat or something.”

“I never said anything about ‘love’.” Danny elbowed Steve as he snuggled in. 

“True,” Steve said, supremely content, because Danny was love.

Fin... _for now_


End file.
